


Relationship Goals

by WorldsFool



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Snippet, There Be Sex Now, collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorldsFool/pseuds/WorldsFool
Summary: The events that transpire between you and Lucas Baker. A collection of snippets and drabbles on a whim.





	1. Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyLadySnackCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/gifts).



> A gift for my muse, FancyLadySnackCakes. Check her out, yo.

Date’s with Lucas Baker involves take out McDonald’s and people watching in the parking lot of the local outlet mall. Lucas flicks his burger crumbs at you as you sit back in the passenger seat of his dad’s old Chevy and point out the flaws in passer-by’s. Weekends are packed with sales and free time for most young adults your age, so much so that the two of you have both made up a game of drawing life scenarios for those that caught your eyes. Today’s target was a rather husky built man, obviously from out of town and whose status is outside of the normal working class.

He’s wearing a nicely pressed gray suit with white secondary colors. His dark brown hair is smoothed back with a little too much product and his ascot is a country tie with a studded blue stone in the middle. He’s lady hunting, you can tell by the way he leans his hip against his five digit dollar Porsche and eyes up any passing females like a horny dog in a rut. You ask yourself: What’s a man with that much money doing in backwater Louisiana?

“Probably on some business trip.” You answer out loud, eyes drawn to the glimmer of a gold watch wrapped around his wrist. It’s probably worth more than your bike. You nudge Lucas’ knee with your own. “Betcha he’s a banker.”

An obnoxious slurping sound echos from Lucas’ empty drinking cup as he absentmindedly and loudly continues to milk it for everything it’s worth. He notices your irritated and twitching stare and when he does, he is nice enough to stop...And then start again just to spite you.

He quickly pulls the cup out of reach as you attempt to swat it, settling for slapping him playfully on the shoulder. He gives you a smartass grin and tosses the empty beverage towards the back seat. Licking off whatever flavor is still left of his lips, he points at Mr. Rich over the steering wheel.

“He’s probably cheatin’ on his wife with the hotel receptionist--” You snort as he continues further. “--Already got two kids with his happy wife an’ two more he don’t know about.”

“Bet he pokes holes in the condoms.” 

“Betch’ya he don’t use ‘em at all--Or maybe he’s like one of ‘em Charlie Sheen ass-wipes.”

You make a face as Mr. Rich pulls out a phone from his pocket and feel compelled to dig out your own. You consider the cracked screen of your Android and look at Lucas with a hint of demand in your eyes. “I want his phone.” Lucas hums in affirmation, stealing a few of your fries from your lap as he get’s resettled into his seat.

“I want his watch.”

“The hell you gonna do with a Rolex watch?” He replies with a mouth full of food.

“Pawn it, duh.” You shake your head and take a drink from your chocolate milkshake.

“Gonna have to sell it online then. You know, Jerry’s already gotten suspicious of what all we’ve been bringin’ in.” You recall the balding Pawn Shop owner giving you odd looks over the counter as you lay down another wallet that isn’t yours. You can only tell him so many times that you’re cleaning out your ‘little brother’s room’ and how his ‘hoarding’ is a real problem.

“Jerry needs to mind his own damn business.” You nod in agreement, removing your drink’s lid and dipping the last few of your fries in the soft serve. “--But that’s fine, plenty of people online who don’t care where they get their shit from, just that they get it.” He gives you a disgusted look as you nibble on the condimented treat. You stick your tongue at him for his judgements.

Mr. Rich is getting in his car, giving up his babe hunt for the day. Lucas slides you a mischievous grin, raising up his brow in suggestion as he shows off those crooked canines and cigarette stained enamel. You smile back at him, already bagging up the scraps of your meal and reaching for your seat belt. 

“Wanna play with ‘em?” Richy Rich starts the car and Lucas turns his key.

“Let’s see how the gators like the taste of that rich asshole.”


	2. Growing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You grew up together. Well...Kinda...He and Zoe grew. You just kinda stalled and stopped after a certain point.

Jack and Marguerite Baker have two children; Lucas and Zoe Baker. You know this because you live next door to them. Next door being defined as; across the street, three miles east and in the center of a two acre wide, sugarcane field.

Introductions are of the small town variety befitting of Dulvey, Louisiana. My dad knows your dad. My mom went to school with your mom. As a single child in need of friends close her age, it’s one smooth icebreaker before five year old you and Zoe, are playing in the backyard and six year old Lucas is flicking his carrots across at you during a shared family picnic.

These small interactions only encouraged more, as your parents and the Bakers had a nice little trade systems going. Often times your family would put away some harvest and seed in return for some beef and fat from one of the Baker’s freshly slaughtered cows. Marguerite grew potatoes and needed cucumbers. Your mother grew cucumbers and needed potatoes. Jack had plenty of swamp wood and a lot of house in need of fixing. Your dad needed wood and was more than willing to hold a ladder.

There were stirs in your ‘happy house’ and more often than not you would hear this.

“Sweetpea, run down and give this to Margue would ya?”  
  
“Sweetpea, go and tell Jack that I got that old tractor engine of his fixed for him.”  
  
“Sweetpea, yer momma and me need to have a talk. Why don’t you go play with Lucas and Zoe?”

You were a little messenger girl with too much time on your hands, too much thought in your head and with parents who had too little patience for eachother. You were temperamental, a bit too much and not enough at the same time. It was always enough for Lucas and Zoe though and they never made bad fun about your ticks or twitchy hands. Lucas once said you had ‘magic fingers’ and was just casting a swamp witch spell. He still played with you and ‘affectionately’ pulled your hair to get your attention. Zoe said you were so quiet because you had loud thoughts. She still played with you and didn’t say a word as you popped the heads off your shared hated Barbie dolls.

You were...different. You knew, even when you were young that something was either missing or broken inside and you’d try to figure out what it was by watching the other kids play. Zoe had friends, Zoe had lots of friends that let her sit by them at lunch and play at recess. Lucas had one or two boys that didn’t mind playing tag or letting him on the swings by them. You had yourself a nice little place in either Zoe’s or Lucas’ shadow that anytime you filled, the others seemed to not want to play. So, you got yourself a stick, sat in the shade and dug little holes that would eventually trip the other kids.

What made the teachers finally call your mother was after a local school bully pushed you, taunting and laughing. Oliver seemed to have an eye out for you and the Baker children, calling you everything under the sun. He called Lucas ‘freak’. He called Zoe ugly. He called you sick. There was a pecking order that rotated between the three of you; who would be the victim? He bruised Lucas’s eye the day before, pulled Zoe’s hair the day before that, that day he had pushed you. You went falling on the blacktop and scraped your knee hard enough to tear your new stockings and draw blood.

His laughter lasted as long as it took for Lucas to shove him back. Your eyes were as dry as the desert despite the sting. Zoe had tried to help you to your feet but your thoughts ran silent and your tongue went numb in your mouth as you stared at the dribbling red that ran down your leg.

Lucas took a punch to the face that made him cry and something inside had just...snapped. You rushed past, punched Oliver in the mouth, knocked him flat on his back and sat down on his chest. You looked him dead in the eyes and screamed as loud as you could for as long as you could. The teachers had to pry you off. Lucas had managed to chip a tooth and Oliver had to be taken to the nurse's office for the piss stain in his pants and the scratch on the back of his head from colliding with the ground. Zoe looked at you like you were a hero. Lucas took your hand and sat beside you in the principal's office.

Your mother had scold you and screamed the entire way to the pediatrics.

“How could you do that to that little boy?!”  
  
“He just wanted to play with you!”  
  
“You’re lucky I don’t pull over and whip your ass right here!”

She didn’t know how you worked. She didn’t know you had told him to quit enough times. She didn’t know you told the teachers and the teachers didn’t do anything. Your mother didn’t know. Your mother didn’t know a thing about the drugs the doctor put you on. Your mother didn’t know that the doctor's prescription just made it all worse. She ignored your sudden loss in weight and what little personality you had. She ignored your sudden gain in weight and inability to sleep. She ignored how it made the numbness worse and the wasps that took up residence in your head. She ignored the twitching and flapping hands that turned in bloody bit cuticles and pulled fingernails. She ignored you and goes back to sleep. She ignores her husband, your father, and goes back to bed.

You ignore the pill bottles on her nightstand and the strange men that come and go when dad’s not home, their footsteps loud against the cherry wood flooring.

_Clop, clip, thump._

“Ain’t right, what that woman done to you.” Marguerite says across from you and Zoe as you sit together on the porch swing. Her house now may as well be your house, as the amount of sleepovers and visits is more time then you spend at your own home.

“Should have done what we did with Lucas and worked with the problem instead of doping you up on drugs.” You hum absentmindedly as you stir in your own skin, your body doesn’t feel like your body anymore.

“I think you just need something to do.” You look to the screen door as it squeaks open and slams shuts behind Jack. He’s nursing a beer and sits beside his wife with a low and comfortable grunt. “You just need to find an outlet. Tell ya what, I’m taking the kids on a gator hunting trip tomorrow, why don’t you come with?”

“Don’t know how to hunt, Jack.” You mutter, eyes catching and hold on the glint of sunlight off his can.

“Well, not with that attitude ya don’t.” He’s trying to be funny, you crack a strained smile at him that feels itchy just being on your face. “It’ll be a learning experience. ‘Sides it’s done Lucas a lot of good to get in a few new hobbies.” Marguerite looks at you, nodding approvingly as a hint for you to do it and say yes.

“Lucas don’t get in much trouble with that bully of your’s at school anymore since he’s been helping Jack around the house.” That was a lie, Lucas still got in trouble, he just got really good at hiding it and Jack and Marguerite got very good at pretending they didn’t hear the town talk about him.

You nod along in the conversation, taking a sip of your soda and fiddle with your fingers until Zoe takes hold of your hand to keep you from picking at the already bleeding mosquito scabs on your knees.

_Scritch, scratch, rip._

“It’s all Oliver’s fault.” Lucas says as he pokes at the dead snake with a stick. It could be because the Baker’s processed their own cows and desensitized Lucas and Zoe from death too young an age, but something had caused Lucas to develop a fascination with the morbid and being magnetically attached at his hip, you had too. It’s a therapist's red flag when the two of you are crouched behind the barn and playing with dead things like it’s a Sunday game.

“He thinks he’s tough shit, picking on people littler than him.” He spits and gives a sharp jab at the carcass. “That ain’t tough. What we’re doing right now is tough.”

You watched as Lucas turned the dead copperhead over and revealed the maggots festering in the remains of the snakeskin stomach. “Don’t see no Oliver looking a dead cottonmouth in the face and not squirmin’.” Neither of you gag or squeal, instead you found yourself seemingly bored; nibbling the dead skin on the inside of your cheeks until it hurts.

“Good thing it’s dead too.” He flicked some severed skin around stirring the bugs that come loose at his prodding. You tilt your head in sight of the lumps of red and black made visible. “See that--That’s the eggs. Bitch would’ve laid them in that there stump an’ then we would’ve had a snake problem.”

Your response sounds mechanical.

“Your backyard is a swamp, Lucas. You’ve already got a snake problem and a rat problem...And a gator problem.” He chuckles, showing off his lopsided teeth and pink gum. He’s missing the last of his baby teeth, compliments of Oliver, and his left eye is a little puffy. He’s only showing you this to seem tough; tougher than Oliver.

You want to say something, something inside your chest is clawing in an effort to make some concerned comment on his bruises and suffering. You can’t. You don’t know what to say. How to say it. You should feel something but you don’t.

Your father tells you that middle school will be better and to do whatever you have to do, but you don’t know what you have to do.

Middle school was a haze of the aforementioned wasps swarming in your head, growing pains, hormones, and dropping grades that nearly had you flunking. It wasn’t that you weren’t smart, you knew the answers but the teachers weren’t asking the questions right. There was something about the word problems that just got scrambled up. People give you looks; you, Zoe, and Lucas because by now they’ve all caught on to the fact that you’re all missing something and weren't afraid to take it out on them if they brought it up.

Since Lucas had always stuck to you like glue and vice versa, the rumors had started that you were dating. Middle school tweens and their cruelty that even if you  _had_ denied it, it wouldn't have stopped them. Neither of you had corrected them because at that time you didn’t care and because Lucas was an optimist. It escalates over time though and that the more people talked about it the more it became truth. One day after walking you home, Lucas stands with you on the porch of the front door and licks his lips. He’s got sweat on his forehead and enough acne to play connect the dots but you’re no better. He tells you to ignore whatever Oliver says about you being fat or stupid and that he thinks you’re the prettiest girl ever.

He also swears that if Oliver keeps calling you retarded, Lucas is going to break more than just his nose next time.

It’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you and the boy may have well just confessed his crush but--something's still...wrong. You know you should feel something, you like him too much not to feel something but it’s all hollow. The wasps are too loud for you to make your thoughts out through the fog; you’re still swimming in the sea of haze and while it’s a terrible thing to do, you elect to use Lucas as an anchor.

So, you grab him by his shirt, pull him down because--Damn, even at middle school age, he’s tall--and clumsily lock lips with him. There are no fireworks like on TV or in the movies. There’s a lot of spit and heavy nose breathing. It’s harsh and ugly because you're both young and don’t know what to do with your tongues. Your teeth click together. He doesn’t know where to put his hands or maybe he does because he grabs at your ass and moans. When you part, he’s dazed and smiling stupid. You’re disappointed, not at him, never at him but at yourself because you still don’t feel anything and you should want to so bad.

It made you so angry and neither of your parents take notice of the broken mirror in your bedroom.

_Crack, smash, break._

Your mother had told you that if she thought you were going through her makeup drawer again she was gonna take your phone. She later smashes it with the heel of her shoe while your asleep. Jack keeps telling you that you’re always welcomed to come over and go hunting with him and Lucas over the weekends. Marguerite keeps telling you that you’re always welcomed to come over and stay for dinner. You don’t know if they know about the kiss but they know something is going on. You're all 'at that age.' Zoe tells you to do her biology homework and she’ll help you with your drivers test. Lucas tells you he’s finally got Jack’s old Chevy fixed and wants to take you out.

“You know, if ya wanna. Ain’t gotta do anything, just go somewhere. Ya know?” You do. You want to get away from everything but everything will still be there when you get back. So, you made it a thing. The both of you get drive-through, go to the mall and spend the day just fucking around together. It's a time waster, the radio is garbled but you can still make out enough of a tune to butcher and laugh at each others terrible singing voice.

Some days, you kissed. Some days, you just hung out in his room. Other days, you shook the barn with music loud enough to drown out your moans and ended with sweat and no regrets.

You pressed your cheek to his bare chest, as his thumb sweeps over your arm, cradling you close to his side as you basked in the afterglow. There's no awkwardness between you, never has been and never will be. He offers you a cold beer but he's still hung in the afterglow. You both laugh as his effort to get up has him stumbling like a newborn calf and then, like it had when you were little, something inside just...snapped.

Of course, the veil didn't clear. The fog was still there but it was thinner than it had been. Life looked a bit more crisp. You were...happy? Yes, that was the word. You were fucked up and happy.

Your father is filing divorce papers and wishes you good luck, that college courses could be tough and to do whatever it is you need to do.

At that point, you figured that you knew exactly what you needed to do and stopped taking the pills.

Those were simpler days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, I was going through old Docs and found that I had started this idea of what it would be like growing up with Lucas Baker. I didn't see it going anywhere, added some detail and decided to paste it here.
> 
> Probably a few mistakes between past and present tense. I've lost my muse for writing again and am trying to drag it back but it is kicking a screaming and having none of it.


	3. Let's Kill Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May your feet serve you well  
> And the rest be sent to hell  
> Where they always have belonged  
> Cold hearts brew colder songs  
> Fate will play us out with a song of pure romance  
> Stomp your feet and clap your hands  
> Let's kill tonight, kill tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Lucas' Room there is a poster on the ceiling with a shark football mascot and the letters LCS. Same letter as what's on his hoodie. It's a school hoodie and it's my theory LCS stands for Louisiana County Sharks, given the mascot.
> 
> Sooo...This has smut in it. It's not very detailed or graphic, believe me that's later but I bumped up the rating.

_ It _ is a different kind of itch...

It’s not like the ones that had buzzed under your skin and plagued your entire childhood. It’s not like the ones that kept you up at night, like worming maggots wriggling under your skin. This itch is festering--annoying, like that one spot you can’t reach and no amount of digging your back against the door-frame can help. It comes and goes and always comes back but never twice in the same spot. For the longest time you think it’s the detox and your hands, while they almost  _ always _ shake, are uncharacteristically steady whenever you tear at your skin, hoping to catch whatever it is under your nails and to dig it out.

Jack is actually the first one to say anything about the growing problem. He sees you scratching while on the porch swing and gets this angry look across his face before it falls flat into one of reconsideration. Holding his temper is not something he does with either Zoe or Lucas and when it comes to you, you can tell it’s starting to grow out of him. You appreciate it while his patience is still there, and nod your head when he tells you to put some mud on it.

“That’ll dry out the rash and ivy.” He avoids the topic, tries to think of it as something as small and tame as a bug bite before fleeing back into the house.

Marguerite offers benadryl, a cold pack, a hot towel. She offers you placebo’s to try and trick you into believing it’s a sickness that will get better. You grind your teeth, you don’t know why you’re suddenly mad at her help and until you do, you try to avoid being in the same room as her.

You manage to bite off another nail before Zoe corners you in the hallway, grabbing your bleeding hand and pulling it away from your mouth. Her germs, filth, and the salt on her skin stings the tear and has you hiss. The fog recedes, the feeling turns sharp, a heat blooms over your cheeks and coils like a snake ready to strike. You find yourself out of breath and feeling light-headed as she pushes you into the bathroom, forcing you to take a seat on the toilet. The rooms spins like its settings are on tumble dry and your ears are both ringing as she pours peroxide on the wound. 

“Keep ‘em on your fingers.” She says, applying disinfectant and colorful band-aids over your fingers. She wraps them too tight and you feel like she did it on purpose to help the lesson stick. “You can’t keep scratching holes in yourself.” She talks of the good sized chunk you tried digging out of your thigh during dinner. Lucas had ceased your efforts with a warm and annoying hold over your wrist. 

She looks you in the eyes, sees the defiance trying-screaming to get out and sighs while patting your cheek. She takes a deep breath and loudly exhales, maintaining eye contact until you begin to mimic her breathing.

It’s stupid. Stupid.  _ Stupid. _

“I know you need to scratch, that’s a  _ you  _ thing but we should try to lessen the damage.” A solution that’s not a solution. She’s saying that you don’t need to stop. The corner of your lips twitch and tickles. The genuine smiles are still new and your trying to get used to them.

Feeling comes easier, while you still have trouble with the expressions. It’s why you keep twitching and jumping at every new sensation. The fog is still there, you don’t think it will ever leave but the over-sensitivity to everything is jittery and electric. A breeze blows by and causes the hairs on your arms to stand. You tried plucking them off. The pain zips before the fog catches it again and swallows it hole.

_ Stop it! Give it back. _

Zoe is warm, like how the sun rises in the fall and turns the morning frost into dew. She’s nice and soft with a jagged edge that reminds you more of dirt clots rather than rocks. She takes the small thump of your head against her shoulder as permission for affection and encircles her arms around you in a hug. Ruffling your hair and kisses the crown of your head. Zoe gives good hugs.

Lucas is wet--not soggy but like a morning on the lake, during the early spring. It’s refreshing and smells like the forest after it rains or it could just be the morning forest air you breathe in as Lucas sets another snare trap.

From poking at dead snakes to baiting hooks for the gators. Now, Lucas is in Jack’s old camo jacket, keeping from the fresh morning bite and laying down a trap of his own. His boots settle in the mud, trailed with the impression of some kind of animal tracks. You lean beside him, watching in what  _ should _ be fascination? Your own coat was once his, swallowing your thin body like a whale. It is a hand-me-down that you will never grow into.

You try gaining weight but it still won’t stay on.

“Now, you gotta wrap the wire in a way that it won’t come apart if the critter tries to struggle.” You watch his deft fingers coil the metal in a loop, an old clothes hanger given new purpose.

“What are we catchin?” You ask.

“Does it matter?” He give you a grin that shows too much teeth. His eyes glint in the way that would give chills to a normal person. Instead, it makes your stomach flutter and there’s that warmth again.

You sometimes think to yourself that this is how psycho’s start out; trapping and snaring defenseless animals and playing with them before chopping them up. You know in your head that what you’re doing is wrong on some level but Lucas looks so happy when you pin the rabbits head down under the heel of your boot. He pulls at its injured leg and snorts. You had never heard a rabbit scream before.

Jack thinks nothing of the smiles on your faces as the game you bring home progressively gets bigger and bigger. He must figure that it’s out of pride of a successful hunt and never seem to (or doesn’t want to) notice how the catch is already bled and their organs, procured

Just like when you were kids; wherever Lucas went, you followed. 

You hold the rats in the larder under control. A trap and bait here and you’re holding a fatty by its tail. Lucas mixes water and lye together in a bucket. He looks you over with what could be love in his eyes as he guides you to lower the rat into the acid. As you slowly drip the vermin into the bucket, you listen to the music of it dissolving squeaks and bubbling residue. The fizz feels nice on the tips of your fingers, burning and sizzling the flesh.The band aids are gone now and your fingerprints, burnt off.

Lucas wipes away your fake tears and kisses you on the nose. You press your foreheads together and smile as he laces his own scarred fingers with yours.

You both start changing, like maggot caterpillars changing into a broken butterflies. Jack calls the two of you out for what it is, that you’re headed down a bad road and he won’t save you. Marguerite has pity in her eyes, a sadness she won’t admit to because you and Lucas are both still her family. Zoe purses her lips, when she sees you’re not scratching anymore and you think she wishes you would go back to hurting yourself rather than what you’re doing now.

You can’t though. You’re above it now. You and Lucas both, stepping higher and higher up the food chain, one leg at a time and becoming the apex predator.

There are no lions in Louisiana but there are Sharks.

You finally decide that while Lucas has his machines, you have your own hobby. Taxidermy is all about memorializing the moment- the prey- the kill. Gator skin is not easy to work with but you find yourself enjoying it while picturing just how one would stuff a human body. It’s easy money, doing what you like as work. Since you stopped taking the meds, it was easy to get into design. Your thoughts ran with creativity, seeing things no one else did. Old but new felt sensations put to paper and paint and skin.

Lucas trails his lips over your neck as you straddle his lap. The barest hint of teeth has you shudder and dig your nails in his arms.

“So sensitive.” He teases and you bite the knot of his nose, a break from a childhood bully that never healed right.

It got you thinking about Oliver. It got you thinking about the skinned rabbits hanging in the slaughterhouse. It got you grinding your waist down and helping Lucas pull his hoodie over his head. It got you thinking…

It got you planning…

It got Lucas staring at you wide eyed and amazed, as you ride his lap in his squeaky computer chair and hold him by his shoulders. The sex is always rough and kisses are always tender, you come and drop onto his lap with a sigh. He continues swiveling your hips for him, groaning in the crook of your neck as he gets closer to his limit. 

“Hey…” He moans to attention, rhythm lost. You run your hand over the back of his head, scratching him gently like one would a dog and sigh in his ear, struck with revelation.

**“Let’s kill somebody.”**

He yelps, as though caught by surprise and chokes on his own response as he grab your shoulders and drags you down, attempting to get as deep as possible into you before the shakes overwhelm him and you feel a jet of warmth fill you from inside.

He smiles in the crook of your neck, giving you a bite just because he can and laughs.

"Oh fuck..."

“Yeah?” You hum.

**“Yeah.”**

When it comes time, getting your parents to leave the house for the week is a heart-wrenching scene of begging them to try and save their marriage. You don’t care about them anymore, you hazard to say that you never cared about them. Your father though, you feel sorry for him. He did nothing wrong by you. Your mother, you could have lived without ever knowing her. A pamphlet for Niagara Falls is shoved into their hands and just like the rats, they take the bait.

“Divorces are expensive.” You tell your dad. “Try running away instead.”

He’s got bags under his eyes and his complexion could look better but he still smiles at you and you almost _feel_ bad.

“Don’t throw any wild parties while we’re gone, ‘kay sweetpea?”

The sugarcane field has crop circle outlined with torches of citronella. The bass thumps thanks to the help of a music student you know from college. Drinks are provided by the son of a moonshiner who shares your second period. You hate making friends but Lucas says you’re really good at it. So, you put up with the bullshit and get real good at pretending you’re normal. It’s worth the turn out. It’ll be worth it even more at the end of the night. 

Oliver Ledski still lives up to his reputation, arrogant and loud. A blonde is on his arm, riding his college football ‘fame’ and ‘scholarships’ like she’s riding his dick. They bump and grind in the sugarcane field as the music shakes the mud. You’re not conspicuous, you don’t bother hiding. It’s your party and the two of you will fuck on the floor if you wanted to. You’re both near the drink table, locking lips and maybe a little buzzed.

Lucas is encouragingly grabbing your ass under your skirt and snaps the garter that holds your hunting knife. The attention, the energy, the stir in your guts and heat buzzing through you is intoxicating. You pull him closer by his hood and suck his tongue into your mouth.

You both break with panting breath. He treats an almost innocent kiss to your forehead and grins as Oliver and his girl finally split for a drink.

Lucas gives your ass a slap, hands you the marked red solo cup and gives you a wink.

“Go to work, babygirl.”

Whatever her name is, Blondie takes your offered drink with the promise of Everclear and can’t taste the drug. You keep talking to her long enough for Lucas to play friends with Oliver, reading his lips as he mouths out to let bygones be bygones.

When Blondie starts to swagger is when you catch her, and call for Oliver’s attention. He comes running with his newly found ‘friend’ Lucas, who’s faking his own concern. You pretend to be courteous, tell Oliver that she can rest at the house and that you’ve got something that’ll help him sober up enough to take her home. Lucas and Oliver carry the body as you lead the way.

The house is quiet, the porch that you gave Lucas your first kiss under is still the same, if not in need of a paint job. You unlock the door and hold it open as the two lay Blondie out on the couch. You invite Oliver for a glass of water in the kitchen, by which point Lucas grabs him by the back of his neck and slams his head against the door-frame enough times until he’s unconscious.

You share a smile, grab the rope and load up the truck.

Maybe there are lions in Louisiana, cutting up Sharks and cock hungry Blondies. It's not survival of the fittest, it's just plain fun.


End file.
